Back At Your Door
by GiantKiller 130
Summary: So Jill describes a strange encounter with Chris. Lots of swear words, Jill's got quite a potty mouth. Nothing really explicit, I guess because I didn't like how this came out. So let's pretend I never wrote this. Not your typical Chris/Jill stuff!


It was about a month after the whole incident in Africa. I hadn't seen or heard from Chris after we got off the chopper, and headed back to HQ. I had to undergo tests, and figure out what I was planning to do. I didn't want to leave. I loved working at the BSAA. For me, time hadn't really moved. It was only 3 years that I spent in Excella's company, but it didn't really feel like it. Excella was a bitch.

The BSAA was nice enough to pay for me to stay at a hotel until I got a place of my own and started over. The first thing I did was cut and dyed my hair. I didn't like that that bitch Excella never really let me take care of it. I hated every bit of being with her, Wesker and Irving. Sometimes, I had dreams of the shit Excella had me do, and woke up sick to my stomach—when I did sleep. I had trouble sleeping sometimes, Excella didn't allow me to sleep very much.

It didn't take long to find an apartment. After a month of just getting resettled, Chris was back at my door.

Chris was a different guy. He didn't look the same as I had remembered him. His boyish features had been replaced with stress lines. His body had grown in mass as well. He looked built to take on a charging bull, yet his eyes still held that glint of mischief in them, despite how much older he looked. He didn't age much; it had only been 3 years since we'd been separated. He looked like he drank, though with Chris, that wasn't something I would consider.

"Jill, it's…–I…" He looked happy to see me, perhaps a little more than that. He seemed like a schoolboy, trying to express how he felt. It was endearing.

"Chris, hey. It's been awhile, you sure know how to keep a girl waiting." I said, opening the door wider and inviting him in. He slipped inside, and took off his jacket as I closed the door behind him. At first, we both didn't say anything. He couldn't bring himself to even look at me, and I felt the same way I had felt when he first ran into me in Africa: ugly and ashamed. I had on regular clothes, but even with them, I felt like I had that hideous battle suit on. I remember, even on the ride back home on the chopper, Chris couldn't bring himself to look at me.

My rubbed my arm nervously.

"Want anything to drink? Anything to eat? What's up?" I asked, moving from the door to where the kitchen was.

"Oh, I'm alright. I just wanted to see how you were holding up… it's been a while, hasn't it?" He asked, finally looking over at me. Our eyes met, and glanced away.

"Yeah, it has…" I glanced up at him and he smiled. I could tell that he was just trying to be nice. I hated that, I just wanted him to treat me the same way he always did.

"—Chris… you don't have to pretend like nothing. I know… things changed. It's been 3 years, and I spent them in company of Wesker, Excella and Irving… I'd understand if you didn't trust me anymore." I said, firmly.

He said nothing, but his whole demeanor changed. Just mentioning Wesker did that to the both of us. Every thought I had of the experience was a bad one, and I was ashamed because Wesker had me fight the one person in the world who I trusted above all else, and that stung. Chris just watched as I just let out a long sigh, and slipped into the kitchen to fix us both some drinks. I didn't say anything as I rummaged through the fridge. He didn't say anything as I looked through the cabinets.

"…you changed." He said, finally breaking the ice between us. I glanced over, but did not humor him with an answer. He shrugged, but I just moved along.

"You dyed your hair back... I liked it blond, it was a nice change." He said, softly. I didn't know what to say. I didn't think he cared for it.

"Yeah...? That's too bad, I like it brown." I replied, the look on my face saying exactly how that made me feel.

"I was just saying. You also put contacts in, why?"

"Chris, my eyes are fucking mutated. They're white. They don't even have a color... How could you? And you only noticed this now?"

"I love you." He blurted out, and then he realized the weight of the statement he just made. Those three words changed every last second we had ever spent together.

"-for how long?" I didn't know how to react. I just felt a rush, like impending doom.

"Since the mansion, you and I, on the chopper, Barry across from us, Becky on the floor. Since the moment you put your head on my shoulder." He said, taking off his shades. I wanted to fucking smack him. Why did he wait so goddamn long to tell me? I was angry and slightly hurt. I was hurt because I spent years telling myself I was stupid for falling for him and that we would never be anything more than partners.

"Fuck you." I said, turning and leaving the kitchen. He grabbed my arm. My face was red, in but with anger or embarrassment, I couldn't say. He chuckled as I tried to pry my way free. He only squeezed harder, leaving me unable to free myself from his grasp. My arm was starting to hurt. Bastard was bruising it. I looked up at him, and glared. He had on this coy smirk and I looked away, hating him.

"Fuck you, asshole." I said, trembling now. He grabbed my face and forced me to look at him.

"I'd like to."

Bastard, I bet he did.

He kissed me. Not nice and slow. He kissed me passionately and had my body pressed tight against the wall, and was rough. I shoved and slapped him in the face, half out of anger, and half out of surprise. The slap was loud, and for a second, we both didn't move. He grinned, and tackled me. My body hit the wall hard and I heard the picture frames shake. My head hit the wall, and for a moment, I saw stars. I was sure the neighbors would be coming to ask what the fuck was going on, but I realized, I didn't really give a shit anymore.

He reached down and frisked me, one of his hands running over my side and resting on my hip. He squeezed, trying to leave another bruise. I bit him hard on the shoulder, and he chuckled again, ending it in a low moan of pleasure. This whole thing was arousing him, and strangely enough, I was beginning to enjoy it myself. His free hand slid up to where my chest was and he traced the scars from the device Wesker had placed on me, through the thin fabric. I closed my eyes, and began to let my body relax a little. He held me there, and for a moment, I thought we were going to make love. His other hand moved from my hip and went to my ass, and pinched it hard. That jerked me out of that near hypnotic trance his touch had put me in.

I kneed him in the gut and darted past him as he doubled over. He grabbed at my ankle and I fell to the floor hard. He laughed, and straddled me there on the floor. I shoved, and we both rolled over, me clawing at his face, and his hands at my throat.

There was nothing tender about our love, because we weren't in love. I didn't love him; I needed him. It was a desire so twisted that it became a need, after holding out for so long. He wasn't my boyfriend, he was my partner, we were a pair, a compound unit. He and I did not share any love, just trust. He was the only person I trusted fully and unwaveringly. He was my partner, and I was his; there was nothing sweet between us.

His face was red on one side, blood creeping down the side of his face from where I had clawed at him. My neck was purple and bruised.

"Fucker." I said, laughing breathlessly as he clawed at my shirt, trying to rip it off. I slapped him again, and pushed my way out from under him. He fell, flat on his stomach, and I scrambled into the bedroom, clumsily bumping into walls and tables on the way. My skirt sagged on the edge of one of my tables, and ripped. My shirt was half torn, and now my skirt was ripped too, the shirt, his doing. He was right behind me, grinning broadly. I was laughing like a madwoman, out of breath, and excited.

"Bitch! Get back here!" He called, diving into the bed. Both of us were on the bed, on all fours, ready to go at it again. We circled each other before I threw myself at him, sending us both to the floor. We were entangled in the sheets, and struggled to get free. Somehow, I ended up on his back, and clung for dear life.

"Okay, okay, you win!" He said finally, collapsing in exhaustion. I let him go, and sat beside him, putting his head on my lap. He nuzzled his head between my thighs and I smacked him.

"Ouch! I said you win!" He said, jerking away.

"I know, you fucking rat bastard. I know."


End file.
